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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30011157">DNA</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/konan_konan/pseuds/konan_konan'>konan_konan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aliens, Awesome Martha Jones, BAMF Martha Jones, Crying, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Medical Professionals, Medical Torture, Men Crying, Protective Jack Harkness, Protective Martha Jones, Sad Doctor (Doctor Who), Sad Tenth Doctor, Sensory Deprivation, Tea, Telepathy, Tenth Doctor Angst, The Doctor (Doctor Who) Whump, The Doctor is Hurt (Doctor Who), Unconsciousness, Whump, kind of anyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:14:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30011157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/konan_konan/pseuds/konan_konan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t see or hear, but he can feel the pain they’re inflicting on him with abandon. He’s trying very hard to ignore it, but with nothing else to pay attention to, it’s getting harder and harder.</p><p>It’s like he’s floating, completely detached from reality except for those moments when the feeling seeps through. Large, alien hands on his bare skin. Blood running down his face. Something cold and hard getting fitted over his mouth. A prick of a needle in his arm.</p><p>He wants to fight it… </p><p>But he just <em>can’t.</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Harkness &amp; Martha Jones, Tenth Doctor &amp; Jack Harkness, Tenth Doctor &amp; Martha Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. asleep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i wrote this entire thing tonight, it's unedited and a bit of a rambly mess but yeah have fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martha is the one that finds him.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not even supposed to be there, she was supposed to be at her mum’s for a birthday party, but the moment she caught wind of what was going on she demanded to help. Jack wasn’t going to turn down capable hands in any context, so she joined the search party immediately.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a damn good thing, too, since she’s the only medical professional they’ve brought along, and only upon landing in what was more or less an active warzone did Jack realize how necessary that would be.</p><p> </p><p>(Jack doesn’t like thinking about injuries. After all, he can’t sustain any - not for very long, anyway. The thought that there are other immortal beings out there without the same comforts honestly just didn’t occur to him.)</p><p> </p><p>“If you find him, call me with your radio,” he says, holding up the small black device. “And teleport back here as soon as you can.”</p><p> </p><p>“And if there’s no teleport stations nearby, then stay put until your reinforcements come. I know the plan, Jack. There’s nothing to worry about.”</p><p> </p><p>They both know that’s not true, but it’s easier to act like this will be a piece of cake instead of a light jog through hell.</p><p> </p><p>And they’ve both lived a life with the Doctor, and they both know that’s what it’s like. It’s easy to pretend, after all that practice.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It takes almost half an hour of running around the alien base to find him. She has to take out a lot of big red soldiers on the way, but she doesn’t much mind. They were shooting at her first, after all.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t think about the fact that the Doctor would disapprove of this. Maybe that’s why she’s being so destructive - she’s not sure she isn’t still angry at him for getting into trouble again, and this time trouble that he can’t get himself out of on his own.</p><p> </p><p>He’s in the center building, right at the end of the first hallway. She knows this because of all the locks. Every other door she sees is equipped with a simple keycard, whereas this door is much more fortified, with three different locks and at least an inch of steel protecting whatever is inside.</p><p> </p><p>(Or really, protecting everyone else from what’s inside. Such precaution for their prisoner, and yet how easily they fell to her…)</p><p> </p><p>It’s no match for her new square gun, though. She slips inside and seals up the hole before any more soldiers can arrive.</p><p> </p><p>But there are already aliens waiting for her inside. It takes them a moment to notice her though, being preoccupied with someone else. It takes until she shoots one of them cold dead for the other three to look up.</p><p> </p><p>They hit the floor in quick succession, and Martha tucks her gun away.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor?”</p><p> </p><p>The aliens were all standing around a long metal table, drenched in light. </p><p> </p><p><em> It’s an operating table, </em> she realizes. An operating table that the Doctor is tied to, thick straps wrapped around his wrists and ankles. His hands are curled into fists, but otherwise, he is completely still, asleep.</p><p> </p><p>Well, this’ll be easier with him unconscious anyway - if he were awake, no doubt he would complain the whole way back, and attract unwanted attention while doing so. Martha takes a deep breath and steps forward to assess the damages.</p><p> </p><p>He’s got several incisions along his ribcage, and one on his lower leg that goes down to the bone. There’s a needle stuck in the crook of his elbow, probably feeding him some sort of anesthesia.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll have to close those wounds before she moves him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve found him,” she says into her radio. “It looks like they were doing some sort of surgery on him, I’ll have to patch him up before we can go anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, we’re about a mile from your location. Any teleports nearby?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, one right outside the building we’re in. I’ll be waiting for you at the TARDIS.”</p><p> </p><p>Martha takes a deep, shaky breath and puts the radio away. A survey of the available medical supplies tells her very little - the TARDIS is too far away to translate any of the written words, and she doesn’t know what language they’re in.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, some things are pretty easy to figure out. She grabs some gauze and some cloth, and begins to wrap his leg.</p><p> </p><p>She stops when he twitches.</p><p> </p><p>“Oi, are you waking up?” she tried keeping the panic from her voice. His face is barely visible under the oxygen mask they’ve put on him, but she can see his eyes are clenched shut. “Doctor, can you hear me?”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t move. Wearily, she turns back to his leg and finishes bandaging it, moving on quickly to his torso.</p><p> </p><p>“I really hope you’re not awake right now,” she mutters mostly to herself. “I can’t imagine this is a pleasant way to wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>His fists tremble against the table. She wipes away the last traces of blood with the cloth, and uses a scalpel to start cutting through his restraints. The straps are thick, but not particularly sturdy against the sharp blade.</p><p> </p><p>Her fears are confirmed when, the moment his hand is freed, he uncurls his fist, flexing his fingers apprehensively. She puts her hand on his and he tears it from her, jerking away from her with his entire body.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, can you hear me?”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t move, except for his hand curling back into a fist. She hardens herself, moving back to cutting off his restraints. He doesn’t move for the rest of the process, but that isn’t as comforting as she thought it would be.</p><p> </p><p>It’s when she moves to take off the oxygen mask that things go wrong. She isn’t expecting him to flinch away from her again, but she isn’t surprised by it. What does surprise her is that as soon as she has the mask off, he pushes himself off the table and crashes to the floor, needle ripping out of his arm with the force of the fall.</p><p> </p><p>Then he opens his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re going to do,” he slurs, pushing himself to his feet, “but jus’ don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, it’s me,” she says. His eyes are wide, darting around the room without settling on anything. He doesn’t acknowledge her words at all. “Doctor, can you hear me?”</p><p> </p><p>With one hand, he’s leaning on the table, and with the other, he’s now holding a scalpel, though Martha isn’t sure where he picked it up in all the confusion. He waves it at her and she jumps back, holding up her arms in surrender.</p><p> </p><p>“Martha, I sent some agents to the TARDIS, can you let them in?” Jack’s voice crackles from her radio, which she slowly pulls out of her pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not quite there yet, still at their main base. Something’s wrong with the Doctor, Jack, he’s acting weird and he won’t let me get close to him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, sit tight, we’re just a few minutes away.”</p><p> </p><p>She hears an explosion over the radio just as the ground shakes under her. “Yeah, I can tell. Just hurry, alright?”</p><p> </p><p>She turns her attention back to the Doctor, who’s still holding the scalpel out in front of him, eyes blown wide open and staring at the wall behind her.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, I’m going to step closer now, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>No response.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, can you hear me?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
No response.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, what have they done to you?”</p><p> </p><p>No response.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, please-”</p><p> </p><p>The door flies open before she can finish, and in rush Jack and several agents.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, thank God you- Woah!” he leaps away from the incoming scalpel, having just placed a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “What the hell?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think he can hear us,” Martha says, swallowing. She looks into the Doctor’s eyes, which are flying around the room again. “Or see us.”</p><p> </p><p>“We need to get him back to the TARDIS and scan him, see if we can reverse whatever they’ve done to him.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll take the scalpel, and you pick him up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Works for me.”</p><p> </p><p>The plan, of course, is easier said than done. Martha doesn’t have any trouble with her half of the action, quickly slapping the surgical tool out of his hands and onto the floor. As soon as he’s disarmed, the Doctor stumbles backwards, raising his shaking fists.</p><p> </p><p>“Easy, tiger,” Jack gingerly wraps his arms around the Doctor’s torso, mindful of the bandages, grunting as the wounded Time Lord thrashes away from the touch. “Easy!”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the Doctor slumps in Jack’s arms, finally going limp and still.</p><p> </p><p>“Is he asleep?”</p><p> </p><p>“Unconscious might be a better term for it, but yeah. Knocked him right out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great,” Martha says, a sour taste in her mouth. “Now let’s get him somewhere safe.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. intermission</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s never been afraid of the dark. All of his faces, fearless when facing the shadows. But this is not darkness. This is not a lack of light, but a lack of anything. It’s not just his sight that’s gone, but everything.</p><p>Or, almost everything.</p><p>He can’t see or hear, but he can feel the pain they’re inflicting on him with abandon. He’s trying very hard to ignore it, but with nothing else to pay attention to, it’s getting harder and harder.</p><p>It’s like he’s floating, completely detached from reality except for those moments when the feeling seeps through. Large, alien hands on his bare skin. Blood running down his face. Something cold and hard getting fitted over his mouth. A prick of a needle in his arm.</p><p>He wants to fight it… that’s his thing, isn’t it? Never giving up, or giving in, and all that.</p><p>But he just can’t.</p><p>Whatever is doing this to him is strong. He doesn’t know if it’s a drug, or a weapon, or some sort of telepathy, but it doesn’t really matter because whatever it is, it’s strong. Every effort to break free is met with further strength, like heavy stones being laid upon him until he can no longer breathe.</p><p>It’s like everything is being taken away from him all at once. He is alone, and scared, and in pain, and there’s not one thing he can do about it. This is the type of situation he is privy to rescuing people from, but rarely has been the one in need of rescue.</p><p>He doesn’t like it.</p><p>But he can endure it. He has to.</p>
<hr/><p>They’re taking bone marrow again. That’s what he thinks they’ve been doing, anyway. It’s painful, and frustrating, and it’s only worse if he can’t stay still. They had to use a paralytic agent on him the first few times, and it made the entire process infinitely worse.</p><p>They’ve also done something on his chest, but he isn’t sure what. Probably another tissue sample, but there’s no way for him to be certain.</p><p>(He can’t be certain of anything, anymore. Maybe that’s the point of this: the less he knows about his situation, the less likely he is to escape it.)</p><p>They’re just a few minutes in when they stop. This is new, they don’t just stop.</p><p>They must be planning something.</p><p>He takes deep breaths, working not to choke on the strange mask they’ve attached to the lower half of his face. Whatever is coming, he will be strong. He will get through this.</p><p>For a few moments, there’s nothing. No hands, no metal comes to rest on his skin, and he tries to enjoy the brief reprieve.</p><p>And that’s what it is: a reprieve. Because the pain comes back again, in the form of pressure on his leg, hands on his skin.</p><p>(Human hands, he thinks without thinking. Safety, he doesn’t dare to hope.)</p><p>He jerks away and it doesn’t matter, the hands come back, wrapping something around his leg, and then his chest. He wants to say bandages, but they’re usually uncomfortably tight, and this time they’re not.</p><p>And then very suddenly, one of his hands is free.</p><p>He flexes his fingers, uncurling his clenched fist and stretching them out. The release of tension feels wonderful, but with it comes more questions than answers. Who is doing this to him, and why? Is this some sort of new experiment by his captors, or could it be...</p><p>Then the hands move to his face.</p><p>All of his thoughts disappear for a moment, pure panic resurfacing, memories pushing past rationality. He lunges away as the mask is being pulled off, falling to the floor. His hands meet something cold, long, metal, and he picks it up, feeling for the sharp end.</p><p>He pushes himself up, holding the scalpel out in front of him. He doesn’t like weapons but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re going to do,” he says, “but just don’t.”</p><p>He can feel the words leaving his tongue, thicker and sloppier than intended. He hopes that they’re understood by whoever is there to hear them, and more importantly, heeded.</p><p>The instinct to open his eyes only fuels the panic he feels when he is met with only more nothing. He swallows, swaying on his feet, his free hand pushing against the table, holding himself up.</p><p>He’s tense. He can’t relax, not when there is danger, and he can fight now, he has to fight now, he can’t....</p><p>Once again, there is a pause. No more hands reach for him, nor metal. Nothing disturbs him for what seems like a very long time, and he grows steely where he stands.</p><p>Whatever is coming, he will be strong. He will be strong. He’s the Doctor, last of the Time Lords. He’s survived everything, and he will survive this too.</p><p>He will. He will. He will.</p><p>Without warning, the metal scalpel is gone from his hand, pulled away from him before he can attempt to use it. Within a second, there’s arms around him, pulling at him, hurting him without causing him any pain.</p><p>He yells something, or maybe just thinks of yelling something, and stumbles, tripping over his own sluggish feet.</p><p>There’s a pinch at the base of his neck, and then nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yee haw</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. awake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here comes some comfort!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When he wakes up, he’s in a bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not the metal table with the mask and the restraints, not the cell with the chains and the mold, but a bed with sheets and blankets and pillows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s laying on his back, arms folded so his hands rest on his stomach. There’s very little feeling in his leg, but it’s still there, and that’s good enough for now. His chest feels fine, though he’s feeling a bit of a headache coming on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to open his eyes. For the past several weeks, that has been the dreaded moment after waking up in any given space. If he opens his eyes, and finds darkness… then good things never follow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he does what he has often done in this situation: he pretends to be asleep. He keeps his eyes closed, keeps his breathing level, and lets himself lay limply on the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(The bed, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bed, it’s a bed…!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s forced to abandon the façade when a hand comes to rest on his. His breath hitches, and his fingers curl, and his eyes flutter open-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-and he is met with the darkness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hand moves to his arm, where it holds on tight, thumb rubbing small circles into his skin. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to take deep, long breaths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he’s more or less calmed - as calm as he can be in this state, anyway - the hand retreats, leaving a cold spot on his arm. Despite himself, his arm moves as if to chase the hand, as if to call the warmth back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the hand does come back, just not on his arm. Warm fingers press against his temple, and he freezes. This is wrong. This is like before. This is another trap, this is, this is-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a flood of information, so fast and so intense that he forgets to breathe. There’s the feeling of being embraced, wrapped in warm, strong arms that want nothing more than for him to be safe. There’s a memory, someone else’s memory, looking down at his own sleeping face, carrying him across an icy field towards safety, towards the TARDIS…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels anger, rage, looking down at rousing soldiers, soldiers he recognizes as the aliens that took him captive, that tortured him, and this rage that is not his own becomes his as he watches the memory fade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he takes a breath, and the hand recedes, and when his eyes blink open he sees light, and shapes, and most of all he </span>
  <em>
    <span>sees, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he hears, he feels more than fear and pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s Jack who is standing over him, hand pulling away from his temple, a whirlwind of emotion in his eyes, questions falling off of his lips faster than the Doctor could ever hope to answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S-stop,” he gasps, reaching for the hand, and it comes back, and its warm, and he pulls it to his cheek and holds it there. “I dont…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quickly, both hands are wet with tears, and the Doctor finds it so easy not to care. For once, it is so easy to let himself go, so easy to cry and shake and hold his head in his hands and let someone else take care of him for once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels like hours before Jack finally pulls away, and it’s only for a moment. He comes back with a glass of water, helping the Doctor drink, using a towel to wipe tears off his face and water from his chin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the Doctor closes his eyes he sees nothing and it’s terrifying, because every time he blinks it lasts for eons, as he sits inside his own head and wonders what he will see when he opens his eyes again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> he will see when he opens his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finishes the water, and sets the cup on his bedside table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(He’s in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his room. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His room, on the TARDIS, completely safe and sound. Completely safe. Completely safe.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack sits down next to him wordlessly, and the Doctor leans against him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long?” he finally asks, voice low. “How long was I there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About two months,” Jack says hesitantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doc, we were looking for you for-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he swallows, shakes his head, “why did they take me in the first place?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because there has to be a reason. There </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be a reason, he can’t have gone through all of that just for nothing. There has to be a reason and he has to know what it is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Jack doesn’t answer right away, the Doctor looks up to meet his eyes, and finds him staring at the floor. “Jack?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They wanted your DNA,” he says quietly. “They were going to try and make themselves immortal using DNA from the last of the Time Lords.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it shouldn’t be such a strange thing. After all, they’re not the first to try, though they very well may be the last.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone thinks they want to be immortal,” the Doctor sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not quite as advertised, is it?” Jack laughs dryly. The Doctor hums.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a knock on the door, and Jack calls “Come in,” and the Doctor tenses as light floods in the room. Until now, he hadn’t realized how dark it was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he awake, then?” Only when the door slides shut does he see it’s Martha, blankets draped over her shoulder and mugs in her hands. “I should have made more tea, sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it, I’m not in the mood for tea,” Jack says. “You can have mine, Doctor, if you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hums again. Speaking just seems like so much work now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So he can see and hear again, too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, how did you manage that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was a telepathic block,” Jack explains, passing the Doctor his tea. “I’m not great with telepathy, but it didn’t take much to tap into your mind and break the barrier, especially since you’d done a pretty good job smashing through it yourself. I barely did anything at all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Telepathy,” he says, taking a sip of tea. “Knew it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Always have to brag,” Martha scoffs. He grins at her, and it feels right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack yawns, leaning back against the bedframe. Martha and the Doctor sip their tea in silence, and only when the Doctor reaches the bottom of his mug does he find the courage to speak again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for coming and getting me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Martha says. “What, did you think we would just leave you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And no, he doesn’t, but he’s been on his own for awhile now, and he just wasn’t expecting anyone to even notice he’d been taken. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I wouldn’t dare think that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha smiles. Even in the dark, he can see it, and that means everything. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hope you enjoyed!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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